


Close To The Flame

by dasakuryo



Series: heart of winter fires [4]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Cassian Andor-centric, Character Study, Gen, Heavy Angst, Pre-Canon, References to Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-18 23:23:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22034860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dasakuryo/pseuds/dasakuryo
Summary: Cassian can't ignore this fellow rebel suffering, he can't turn a blind eye— what if this man has some sort of valuable information? The imperials can worm it out of him, if they are patient enough. The camo jacket and pants are littered with stains, some dry of a brown hue, others dark and glistening. After accidentally brushing over them, crimson streaks slide down Cassian's fingers.If he brings the soldier to safety, then Cassian is keeping the Rebellion safe."You are with—" the man manages, an alien bright light creeping into his tired eyes. //[While undercover, Cassian is determined to break out a fellow rebel from an imperial facility.]
Series: heart of winter fires [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/784578
Comments: 9
Kudos: 17





	Close To The Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Written for cassianandorpromptathon over at Tumblr. The prompts were Decision, Grief and Light vs Darkness.

Sweat beads under the collar of his uniform. Cassian fights down the sudden itching urge to slide a finger between the felt and his neck to wipe it off. He swallows; his throat dry. The imperial commander sitting opposite him stops keying in files on his datapad, glances to the chrono besides him when the lights flicker yet again.

“Seems it’s a difficult one tonight,” he comments almost chortling.

Cassian feels sick to his stomach. He takes a quick glimpse at the numbers shining on the dark background and the feeling of nausea sweeps over him again. Three hours and counting. He reaches out for the glass and feels the tremors shinning up his arm. Shaky fingers tighten their tremulous grasp and the liquid sways. Cassian forces a gulp of water down his throat as casually and calmly as he can.

The lights flicker again over their heads. He sucks in a breath and pretends to frown at his data-pad to hide the wince suddenly clawing at his face. The lights flicker again and the commander clicks his tongue, lets out a frustrated huff and his data-pad meets the table with a clank. His steely eyes are fixed on him, Cassian’s heart freezes as the man looks daggers at him.

“Don’t just _sit_ there, cadet,” he practically hurls the words at him in a most frustrated grunt. “Go and do something to fix this. I have work to do.”

Cassian gives a sharp nod and manages not to trip over with his own feet when he stands up. The office door slides shut behind him with a swoosh. The hallway is deserted and each step he takes on the duracrete echoes back almost deafeningly.

Until _something else_ echoes back. He swallows, and for a fleeting moment he's thankful his heart is pounding in his ears, deadening the blood-freezing sound. His throat constricts further which every step he takes. The agonized screams ring out too clear. He takes a deep breath before keying in the pass-code.

They must have stopped when the door slid open, for the ear-splitting shrieks have subdued to strained wails of pain. Cassian squares his shoulders and lifts his chin, though his stomach is swirling violently and he is on the verge of gagging at the sight that welcomes him. The officer sneers when their gazes meet.

"What do you want, cadet?" he asks bitterly, wiping off his hands with a smeared rag.

Cassian's breath catches sharply in his throat, he does his best to stop his gaze from meandering off to the rag in his hands. An imperial cadet shouldn't be bothered by such a sight, and yet the urge to gag hits him again when his peripheral vision takes in the red staining the officer's arms, all the way up to his rolled-up sleeves.

The whines hadn't stopped.

"The power keeps going out," he says simply. "The Commander has work to do," he adds, hoping that will be enough.

The officer lets out a sinister, dry laugh.

"Cadet, we are rather busy here getting this rebel scum to talk," he says with an edge of mockery. "In case you haven't noticed."

"He was quite clear about it," Cassian fights back.

The officer laughs under his breath and shakes his head, gesturing vaguely to the other two cadets _working_ alongside him. One releases their hold on the prisoner, while the other sets down something on the durasteel table. Cassian's breath catches sharply in his throat at the sudden clank.

"Seems we're done for the time being," the officer practically snorts.

He looks down at figure strapped to the chair, his lips curl into a smirk at the pained sounds. He pivots on his heel, boots clicking with his every step as he saunters towards the door. The cadets follow suit behind him.

"Clean up and take him back to his cell, cadet," the officer orders Cassian and his lips quirk. "I expect you to inform me when the Commander sees fit that we resume our questioning."

Cassian gives a sharp nod. He can't move until the door slides shut behind the three men. He approaches with cautious steps. His skin crawls, the closer he gets, the stronger the acidic pungent smell of blood becomes. He swallows and reminds himself the cameras are recording. That kind of footage is one of the reasons he's undercover in this facility to begin with—

 _Imperials don't show any sympathy for rebel scum_ , he tells himself when he hears the man's laboured breathing. Yet his fingers can't stop shaking as he unstraps him. His face glistens with a mixture of sweat and blood beads, his arms drop, hanging limp and slack, as soon as Cassian removes the restraints. He wonders if he should be acting harsher, more violently, towards the prisoner. His stomach turns at the mere thought and he forces the air out of his lungs in a hiss.

He can't stop thinking the man's face looks vaguely familiar. Maybe they bumped shoulders some time while on base, perhaps they have talked. He might be that one soldier who taught him how to fire a repeater blaster without the butt hurting his arm—

"What's the matter boy," the man's ragged voice is surprisingly amused. "First time?" a shadow of a chuckle escapes through his parted lips.

Red suddenly taints his lips, spurting from the corners of his mouth into a thin trickle down his chin. Cassian searches his glassy dazed eyes, squeezes his shoulder, hoping to bring some sort of comfort... hope, amidst all that pain. He doubts the man understood his silent message, for his lips quirk upwards, disgust rippling through the exhaustion of torture.

Maybe he can— he has to try—

He's his back turned to the security camera, doesn't he?

"I can help you," he whispers. "I can help— get you out—"

The man's eyes, darkened by pain, widen at his words. Something flashes within them, the corner of his mouth twitches slightly upwards. A breathy sound escapes his throat. A choked back whimper, or a disbelieving chortle. Cassian fists the man's jacket once again, tighter, and searches for his gaze, almost frantically.

"Please," the plea rolls out his lips when the man winces again. "I— I can—"

There is too much at risk. His conscience nags at him, pushes him to stay on mission. But Cassian can't ignore this fellow rebel suffering, he can't turn a blind eye— what if this man has some sort of valuable information? The imperials can worm it out of him, if they are patient enough. The camo jacket and pants are littered with stains, some dry of a brown hue, others dark and glistening. After accidentally brushing over them, crimson streaks slide down Cassian's fingers.

If he brings the soldier to safety, then Cassian is keeping the Rebellion safe.

"You are with—" the man manages, an alien bright light creeping into his tired eyes.

The man tilts his head, and hope blossoms into Cassian's chest, a smile tugging at his lips. He gives a curt, sharp nod, and helps the weakened man to his feet, he staggers, Cassian takes advantage of the camera angle and feigns a sideway yank. The growl the man lets out seems convincing enough, but the raggedness of his every breath is laced with too much pain to be fake. Cassian swallows, forcing himself to twist his lips and push the man on his shoulder to take a step forward.

The door slides shut behind them and Cassian's heart starts beating in his ears again, as he scans the corridor out of the corner of his eye. His fingers, with a mind of their own, clench around the man's jacket. His mouth goes dry. He has one shot at this, the thought makes his throat close up and he leans on the man, a sudden vain effort to give some semblance of aid to his battered body.

Together they stagger down the hallway, their steps echoing back on the duracrete walls. The halo lamps flicker and Cassian hoist the man's arm on his shoulders, taking advantage of their slim height difference. The pungent smell of blood hits his nostrils and he can practically taste the ferrous sweetness at the front of his tongue. He hurries his pace, the man's trembling under his grasp, his breathing even shallower than minutes ago. Cassian mind wants to toy with the idea he might be on the verge of passing out, pushing down the intrusive thought that he is mistaken, and the reason behind the man's unrest is the alternative that weighs heavier on Cassian's heart—

Cassian won't allow it to go from potential to factual. Muscles pulling taut, he takes another step forward, chewing on his lip. Something flutters and burns behind his ribs, silences the deafening thumps in his ears. He can save this man. He can save the Rebellion.

"How far—" the man forces out in a hushed whispers.

"Not long," Cassian mutters.

It won't be too long until they reach the cells, won't be too long until he whispers the rebel to fake a fight and Cassian turns on the hacking device he installed into the facility's security mainframe. One minute tops until the security cameras crash, which, best case scenario, will give him a window of five minutes to smuggle the man out of the facility —worst case scenario, he'd only have three minutes instead. He hopes the hacking keeps the imperials from rebooting the system long enough for him to bring this man to safety.

Cassian clicks open the cell gate at the same time he presses the remote's button.

"Now," he whispers, and lets the injured rebel take his blaster.

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me."

It didn't work out as smoothly as Cassian expected. The same imperials he'd met earlier in the detention cell caught wind of what was happening, somehow. Cassian's throat bobs against the rebel's arm, keeping a firm hold around his neck. Two of the officers have drown their weapons, Cassian can barely hear their shouting orders over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

"Drop your weapon!" the head officer barks, pointing his blaster at the rebel's face.

The man tightens his grip around Cassian's neck, making him hoarse his breath out. Both of them know the imperials won't kill him, they value too much the intell they can worm out of him, or else they wouldn't have bothered going to such lengths with their torture earlier. Cassian counts on it—

"You kriffing rebel scum!"

A blaster is fired, and Cassian can taste the scorched cloth in his tongue before he feels the burning pain on his shoulder. That kriffing head officer— Cassian exaggerates his pain and stumbles down the hallway, dragged by the rebel, he's sure he'd heard him whispering a _sorry, kid_ under his breath. Cassian knows there are bigger things at stake here —he finds himself asking the Force he really doesn't believe in to throw them a bone. This can't go south—

They need to take the next turn, they may still have a chance. The man may still have a chance to escape and Cassian's cover will not get compromised. But as soon as they step into the next hallway, Cassian's stomach drops: there's a whole squad of Stormtroopers circling the only way out.

"Don't worry, kid," the rebel says under his breath, his grip turning slightly laxer around Cassian's neck. "You know what you've to do."

Cassian knows. And yet doesn't. Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of one of the Stormtroopers. The man isn't holding a blaster. Cassian hears the familiar clank and clink of durasteel against duraplast. Bubbles raise in his throat and the air suddenly doesn't reach his lungs. It wasn't supposed to play out this way—

"Now."

It all happens too fast. He's shoved to the ground. There's a rain of blaster fire, sweeping across the corridor, blinding his gaze and ringing in his ears. He fishes for his second blaster at the shuffle of hurried footsteps. The rebel, staring directly into Cassian's eyes, face contorted in pure pain and fury, is pointing the blaster at his head.

Cassian shoots.

And the rebel drops limply to the ground.

A single shot to the heart. Too clean, with almost surgical precision, for an imperial cadet.

"You kriffing idiot!!!" the head officer roars, grabbing him by the collar. "Your blaster wasn't set to stunt?!"

Cassian stutters an apology, but the officer's gaze is fixed on the dead body. A scowl taking a deeper hold with every passing second on his face. He fists Cassian's jacket and pulls him to his feet, slamming him into the durasteel wall. Cassian nods and nods and nods, the officer threatening him with punishment that don't really register into Cassian's mind.

"This is on you," he hisses. "This is your fault and _you_ will take the fall for it. You'd better wish they didn't pin this on me, cadet," his eyes are blazing with anger. "Or I swear I'll personally throw your incompetent arse into the worst Outer Rim labour camp I can find!"

A chill runs down his spine, but not because of the officer's words. It's not the threat that sinks in. All the Cassian can remember is the light ebbing away from the rebel's eyes, until they were dull and dead —like stones.

**Author's Note:**

> I am convinced Cassian had to make some hard decisions while being undercover, and we do know (as per supplemental canon material) that he is indeed familiar with the _procedures_ of imperial interrogation. This story is a humble attempt to bridge those two concepts together, I hope you've enjoyed the read, despite the heavy emotional load I intended to convey (and which I hope it came across). Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is always appreciated <3


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